"Get the hell out, Tiger."
"Take that bloody shopping list."
"You're not a baby anymore!"
Mother Polly was never the nurturing type. After barking The Leaky Cauldron's address at Tiger, she booted him straight out of The Shelby Bar with one swift kick.
"Damn it, Mom!"
"I haven't even had breakfast!"
"Motherfucker!"
Tiger cursed viciously as he steadied himself, irritably brushing the footprint off his arse.
[Oh, Tiger...]
[Honestly, won't you consider letting parasitize Polly?]
[I genuinely believe no one would make a more suitable symbiote host than her.]
Recalling how Mother Polly had just obliterated Tiger's bedroom door with a Blasting Curse, then stord in like an avenging fury to drag the sleeping Tiger from his bed and hurl him bodily from the room, Venom couldn't resist comntary.
"Shut it!"
Tiger's expression turned thunderous.
Fortunately, second brother Tommy pulled up in his sedan at that mont, waving Tiger over...
"Don't bla Mom."
"She's just unsettled, you know. Even Arthur and I haven't visited Diagon Alley many tis."
"Those sons of bitches aren't exactly welcoming to our sort."
During the drive, second brother Tommy chattered incessantly. When discussing their previous encounters with wizards, his habitually cold gaze grew positively arctic.
Tommy was The Shelby Family's true leader. If not for Mother Polly's repeated warnings, he'd have long since skinned those pretentious wizards alive and encased them in concrete.
"I know... I know..."
Tiger responded with half-hearted grunts.
Of course he wouldn't hold grudges over such matters.
It was simply that having his soul still in bed while his body occupied the car felt deeply unpleasant—especially with Venom, that bloody idiot, constantly drooling over pedestrians through the window...
He felt contaminated.
From the inside out.
"Welco to—"
Tommy fell abruptly silent.
"Forgive , Tiger. I can't betray what little conscience remains to ."
"I only hope this establishnt won't disappoint you regarding your future magical existence."
With complex emotions flickering across his features, he pushed open the patina-stained wooden door. The resulting cacophony and rather pungent, peculiar odors assaulted them imdiately.
Tiger instinctively held his breath.
However, surveying the pub's interior, he raised his eyebrows with unexpected interest.
The place teed with seemingly bizarre figures—so wrapped themselves like mummies, others wore tattered rags, and several sported exaggerated accessories that defied description.
The beverages adorning each table appeared particularly grotesque. Beyond their nauseating colors, they actually bubbled like viscous petroleum.
In one corner, several hunched silhouettes played cards while smoking hookah-like contraptions, their eyes literally glowing...
"I bloody love this place..."
"What?!"
Hearing Tiger's declaration, Tommy gaped in astonishnt, whipping around to study his brother.
"Honestly, Tommy, The Shelby Bar doesn't remotely resemble a proper gang establishnt."
"You lot dress like bloody gentlen—'this isn't permitted,' 'that can't be sold.'"
"That's because of you and John!" Tommy retorted irritably.
When children lived in the house, even gangsters prioritized education, for Christ's sake.
"This place has the right idea." Tiger strode unceremoniously toward the bar counter.
"Look at these filthy black walls and tables."
"Perfect..."
With a contemptuous spit, Tiger perched on a high stool before the bar, completely ignoring the proprietor's darkening expression as he continued his assessnt.
"Unidentifiable creatures that barely pass for human, rancid greasy food, beverages that look mixed with laundry powder—makes you want to spray the entire place with bullets the mont you walk in."
"Now this is a gang bar."
"Speaking of which, hasn't that shipnt of Chicago typewriters arrived yet? I hear Arican gangs are mad for those things. You need to stay current with trends."
"Arthur's itching to lead raids beyond Surrey." Tiger shared that anticipation entirely.
"The rchandise has arrived, but the higher-ups refuse to see Shelbys operating outside Surrey's borders."
"Arthur's furious, but there's bugger all we can do unless Aunt Manny climbs to a more influential position."
Contemplating recent governntal attitudes toward The Shelbys, second brother Tommy's expression grew thunderous.
"Brilliant..."
Tiger shrugged helplessly, then fixed his attention on the barkeeper standing behind the counter:
"Oi, mate! Whiskey. Now."
"Tommy, is this your son?"
Hearing Tiger's demand, the pub owner released a weary sigh. Rather than moving to fulfill the order, he regarded Tommy, who'd settled beside Tiger, with complex emotions.
"He bears no resemblance to you whatsoever—more like Arthur. You weren't... compromised by Arthur..."
"Shut it, Tom."
Tommy delivered an arctic glare before introducing them with flat detachnt:
"This is my brother, Tiger."
"Tiger, et Old Tom—a reasonably decent bastard."
"Never mind who I am, and I couldn't give a toss who he is. Just get that bloody whiskey."
Tiger pressed impatiently.
Having finally escaped Mother Polly's surveillance, he naturally intended to drink himself senseless.
Tommy restrained his increasingly agitated brother, eting the barkeeper's gaze with steady calm:
"Ignore him, Old Tom. Bring him butterbeer and a fried egg sandwich."
"Tiger, Mom's got a nose like a bloodhound. You've got a long future ahead—if you don't fancy dying today."
"Shit..."
Recalling Mother Polly's viciously creative punishnts, Tiger gradually deflated.
"At least there's still beer."
"Indeed—at least there's butterbeer." Tommy's lips curved in sothing that might charitably be called a smile.
Monts later, Old Tom delivered a steaming sandwich alongside the butterbeer.
Observing the rich, inviting foam, Tiger eagerly tilted his head back and took a substantial gulp.
It was like consuming concentrated honey—that cloying sweetness, heavier than maple syrup, shot straight to his skull like liquid diabetes.
"BLEURGH!"
"Bloody hell!"
"What is this shit?!"
Before Old Tom could react, the enraged Tiger seized his collar and slamd him brutally against the bar.
"You son of a bitch! What kind of fucking beer is this?!"
"Want to rip your guts out and brew so lard beer to stuff up your arse?!"
"Christ! You bastard!"
This was deception—absolute, unforgivable deception.
The savage roar left Tom's head spinning, though Tiger felt equally wretched. That intensely saccharine assault made his brain physically throb.
Witnessing his furious brother preparing to draw the hunting knife from his belt and drive it through Old Tom's skull, Tommy swiftly intervened, grasping Tiger's wrist.
"Easy, Tiger."
"That's simply how the stuff tastes."
Tommy calmly restrained Tiger while explaining, simultaneously patting the thoroughly shaken Old Tom. Genuine amusent flickered in his penetrating eyes.
"Old Tom, you understand—Shelby Family mbers aren't renowned for their even tempers..."
"Oh... rlin's beard..."
As muffled laughter rippled through the pub's patrons, Old Tom scrambled upright, his weathered face notably pale.
"Bloody hell, Tommy!"
"This is definitely your doing, you vindictive bastard! I'm going to murder you!"
"Now, now, Old Tom—don't be so petty. How about I buy you a proper drink..."
Tommy made absolutely no attempt at denial.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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